Page 6 of A Serving of Hope

Kenichi bowed. “I’m counting on you.”

“But if you don’t remember what went into it, and we’re not allowed to ask your mother, this is going to be tough. Unless we develop psychic powers, I just don’t see how we’re meant to crack the case.”

“Please. There has to be a way.”

“Well,” said Koishi, snapping her notebook shut, “we’ll just have to leave it to my dad. Just…don’t expect a miracle, okay?”

—

“So, get everything you needed?” asked Nagare as they returned to the dining area.

“Mostly,” replied Koishi, giving Kenichi a sidelong glance.

“Sorry to put you to so much trouble,” he said, bowing to them both. “It’s all just so vague in my memory.”

“Well,” said Nagare, folding up the newspaper he’d been reading, “whatever it is you’re looking for, we’ll do our best to find it.”

Kenichi bowed again. “Thank you very much.”

“Seriously, though,” said Koishi, “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Nagare frowned at her. “Someone sounds a little pessimistic.”

“Yeah, well, just wait till you hear how little we have to go on.”

They told Kenichi to return two weeks later, explaining that he could pay for the meal and their services then. When he stepped outside, he almost tripped on the tabby cat lying by the entrance.

“Interesting spot for an afternoon nap,” he said, crouching to stroke the animal’s head.

“That’s Drowsy,” said Koishi. “He really can sleep anywhere.”

Nagare, meanwhile, was eyeing the dark clouds gathering in the west. “Looks like we’re in for a shower.”

“Take an umbrella,” said Koishi, offering Kenichi a plastic one.

“Don’t worry,” he replied as he got to his feet. “I’ll run as far as the underground walkway.”

“Take care!” Nagare called after him.

—

“You know, Dad,” said Koishi when they were back inside, “I’m not sure two weeks is going to be long enough. We could spend years on this and still come up with nothing.”

“Is it really that hard?” asked Nagare, sitting at the counter.

Koishi sat next to him and opened up her notebook. “The hardest yet.”

“His mother’s miso soup, eh?” said Nagare, running a finger over her notes. “Does sound tough.”

“The worst part is, we’re not allowed to ask the one person who might be able to tell us.” Koishi propped her chin in her hands. “And besides…”

Nagare glanced up from the notebook. “What?”

“Part of me feels like we shouldn’t solve this one. For Mr. Yoshizawa’s own sake.”

“You know what I always say, Koishi,” said Nagare, turning back to the notes. “Our job is to find the food. What the client does afterward is up to them.”

“What’s Obuse like, anyway?” Koishi asked suddenly.